


Seeing You By the Light of Fiber-Optic Stars

by Val Mora (valmora)



Series: tie kink 'verse [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character, Kink Meme, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Sburb, Xeno, medical workarounds to paraplegia, paraplegic character, that roiling furnace of horror and hormones known as high school, worldfusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words on a computer screen can make a thousand miles feel like hardly any distance, especially when it could have been an entire universe of separation.</p>
<p>They aren't any kind of substitute for sloppy makeouts, though.  Somehow Dave and Tavros make do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://homesmut.livejournal.com/12138.html?thread=23692394#t23692394) at the Kink meme for a prompt requesting a long-distance relationship.
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, who deserves all the cinnamon buns ~~(and all the Dirk buns too)~~.
> 
> As always, if my portrayal of Tavros's disability is offensive or discomfiting, please let me know how I can edit this piece.
> 
> “Kasuga” refers to a Japanese enka singer and is otherwise irrelevant.

"Stop pacing."

Dave shoves a couple swords back in the fridge and closes it. "What?"

"Must be time to strife," Bro says from where he's got his headphones around his neck, mixing some cop drama opening themes.

"I'm fine."

Bro looks up, and the way his eyebrows almost furrow, he's looking for something in Dave's face, but then he turns back to his tables. "You have a cyberdate with Vast Tracts of Land in Cape Horn."

"And I'm just getting the champagne and caviar ready so I can get down on one knee in front of the lens and ask him to be my blushing bride. We'll make the bridesmaids wear literal traffic cones."

Dave's computer pings in the other room. Two flashsteps and he's in front of the screen, the bedroom door slamming shut in his wake.

\-- adiosToreador [AT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

AT: hI,  
AT: aRE YOU THERE,  
TG: am now  
TG: how are you  
AT: tHEY, sET MY SURGERY DATE,  
AT: iT WON'T BE ANYTIME SOON, bUT THEY SET IT, sO I'M EXCITED ABOUT THAT  
TG: no thats good  
TG: when is it  
AT: jUNE, sO I DON'T MISS ANY SCHOOL, fOR THE SURGERY ITSELF, aND THEN I HAVE A LITTLE TIME, tO DO THERAPY BEFORE GOING BACK  
TG: three months  
AT: i'M GOING TO BE IN, pHYSICAL THERAPY, fOR A REALLY LONG TIME, lIKE EARTH SWEEPS,  
AT: yEARS, i GUESS,  
TG: i mean you are getting major surgery done to your spine  
TG: no biggie youll just be at football practice the next day  
TG: hitting home runs right through the net without even bouncing off the backboard  
AT: dO YOU, rEALLY NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT SPORTS,  
TG: i work effortlessly to be this bad at it  
TG: why  
TG: did i get something wrong  
AT: yOU MIXED UP THREE SPORTS,  
AT: iT'S ACTUALLY KIND OF, cUTE }:)  
TG: whoah baby  
TG: are you dissing my cool  
TG: cause thems strifing words  
AT: yOU CAN BE BOTH, cAN'T YOU,  
TG: nope  
TG: there is a venn diagram to express it  
TG: it looks like a set of eyes staring blankly out from the endless darkness of inapplication and irrelevance into the roiling sea of the viewers mind untouching and uncomforted and completely separate  
TG: a null set expressing the confluence of two nonintersecting categories like fiduspawn and things that do not make me wish my soul had been eaten by fluthlu  
AT: tHEY'RE ALSO CUTE,  
TG: youre biased  
AT: yOU'RE JUST UPSET, bECAUSE YOU'RE TERRIBLE AT THE ONLINE VERSION, aND ALSO ABOUT THE TIME YOUR HAZARDINGO ATE YOUR JIGGLYPOON, eVEN THOUGH I WARNED YOU,  
TG: yes okay you are the fiduspawn master i bow down to your superiority and wait for you to school me with a zen discipline stick to the knuckles  
AT: i WOULDN'T HIT YOU, aND YOU WOULD DODGE, aNYWAY  
TG: yeah probably

There's a long pause. What's Tavros doing, on the other end of the connection? Probably staring at the screen waiting for Dave to say something. 

TG: you ever get dreams  
AT: yES, wHY, dON'T HUMANS,  
TG: no i just  
TG: sometimes i dream about the game  
TG: that its not over its just another layer of the game that i havent realized is a layer  
TG: the chopped onion of the universe making your eyes teary  
TG: and i just  
AT: oH,  
TG: it sucks  
AT: nO, tHAT'S,  
AT: wOULD THE GAME, gIVE US OUR WORLDS BACK, iF IT WERE STILL GOING,  
TG: i have no idea what that fucking game would do  
AT: bUT, i MEAN, iF IT WERE STILL GOING, sHOULDN'T YOU BE GLAD ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE NOW, iNSTEAD OF WORRYING WHAT WILL COME,  
AT: eSPECIALLY CONSIDERING THE GOD TIER, aND ALL THE GOOD MUSIC, tHAT'S GOING TO COME FROM THE WARP,  
AT: aND I LIKE TO THINK THAT, bEING AROUND EACH OTHER'S CULTURES, hAS GROWN US UP A LOT,  
AT: eSPECIALLY ALL THE TRANSLATING,  
TG: yeah ill practically have enough for college by the time i need it  
TG: you must be doing even better in new york  
AT: iT'S, pRETTY HARD FOR ME TO GET AROUND, eVEN WITH THE PROSTHETICS, sO I DON'T DO THE REALLY HIGH-PRIORITY STUFF IN, wASHINGTON   
AT: i'VE BEEN MOSTLY DOING, bOOKS, aND SOMETIMES ZOOLOGY STUFF,  
AT: tHE ZOOLOGY STUFF, a LOT MORE, bECAUSE THERE AREN'T ENOUGH PEOPLE, tO TRANSLATE THE TECHNICAL LANGUAGE, aND I LIKE ANIMALS ANYWAY,  
AT: eVEN IF EARTH ANIMALS ARE KIND OF, dUMB,  
TG: i think you just typed dumb when you meant not homicidal  
AT: }:þ  
TG: fuck  
AT: wHAT,  
TG: that wouldve been a perfect moment for a kiss  
TG: and instead im left licking the screen  
TG: a horrible terezi cosplayer in the wrong color scheme  
AT: }:)  
AT: i WON'T TELL HER YOU SAID THAT, iF ONLY BECAUSE SHE'D PROBABLY WANT TO LICK MY HUSKTOP SCREEN, tO TASTE YOUR TEXT,  
TG: pretty baller to have my chat tongue kissing get licked up by all the ladies and gents but im not the kind of guy who gives out his favors indiscriminately  
TG: so keep that one all to yourself yeah  
AT: nOW IT'S MY TURN TO WANT TO KISS YOU,  
TG: man were just missing out on all these opportunities for macking on each other  
TG: its a real shame how thousands of miles of unforgiving continental landmass banjo-bearing rednecks and the mississippi are preventing us from consummating this love affair with our chapsticked lips and minty-fresh mouths

Tavros doesn't respond immediately, so Dave pulls up his chum list again, checking to see if anyone's online, decides better than to message Nepeta – he really doesn't feel like RPing right now – and looks back at the chat window with Tavros.

Still no response.

He types, did i say something wrong, deletes it, types if im coming on too strong i can leave that shit to equius, deletes it, and spends thirty seconds frantically going through his iTunes looking for the perfect songs to put together as an apology mix before the chat window dings again.

AT: sORRY, i GOT DISTRACTED BY AN FS FORUM POST ABOUT ASPATRAS, wHICH ARE SERIOUSLY, nOT AS GOOD AS PEOPLE SEEM TO THINK THEY ARE,  
AT: tO START WITH, tHEY'RE DUMBER THAN, dAYBREAK, aND I LIKE KANAYA A LOT, bUT THAT'S SAYING SOMETHING  
AT: yEAH, iT'S KIND OF ANNOYING, bUT AT LEAST HALF A COUNTRY IS LESS THAN, aN ENTIRE UNIVERSE,  
AT: eVEN IF I DO, rEALLY WANT, tO BE CLOSE ENOUGH TO YOU, tO SEE YOU REGULARLY,  
TG: i think pesterchums newest version has video chat  
TG: dont know about trollian though  
AT: i'LL LOOK AROUND,  
AT: aND NOW IT'S PROBABLY, tIME FOR ME TO GO TO SLEEP, sO GOOD MORNING,  
AT: i MEAN NIGHT,  
TG: same diff  
TG: later

\-- adiosToreador [AT] has logged off! --

He still remembers what Tavros looks like, sort of, more a dream than a real memory. Round face, big eyes, jagged teeth like some kind of shark. Big shoulders, full of muscle from pushing around the wheelchair. The mohawk, which he doesn't remember ever touching. Horns, big ones, like a bull's, knocking things out of the way.

(Rule 51 applies to horns, no big deal. Can't grow large horns without more-than-adequate nutrition, though there are genetics at play too, or so Wikipedia says. Big horns equals good hunters to their cavetroll instincts, and Tavros, goalposts protruding out the sides of his head, is like a teenage girl with double-D's who doesn't realize that boys just want to stare down her shirt.)

He's not uncool enough to want to cuddle up close, but it'd be nice to hear Tavros's voice. Do troll boys' voices change? Dave's has, since they last saw each other in person, and he likes to think that he sounds good, lower than most, smooth and dry. Not phone-sex good, but good enough to want to listen to.

He drags his finger along a sword-mark on his computer table. He has a mic. He could record himself talking and send it to Tavros, ask Tavros to send something back.

Naw.

He shoves his chair away from the table and slouches his way out into the kitchen to go look in the cupboards, even though he isn't hungry.

+++

Tavros's therapist watches him over her notepad.

"You've decided to go ahead with the surgery, then?" she asks.

Tavros shifts awkwardly on the seat, runs a hand over the metal of his thigh. The upper edge digs a little into the skin of his belly. "Yeah."

"Why did you come to that decision?"

He shrugs, uneasy. "A lot of the stuff I see is about, uh, celebrating your disability, or not being ashamed of it, and stuff. Fighting to be recognized as a real person, not an object. And that's, really, healthy. I guess. There aren't disabled trolls." Pause. "No, there are. Vriska had a robot arm. That's a disability, I guess, and she wouldn't have been culled. But mine is... bigger. Different."

"What do you mean by that?"

He shifts on the couch, then taps a beat, faintly, on the knee joint. "I can't – emerge. Can't feel anything, there."

She blinks, focuses on him. "To clarify – your, bulge? Doesn't emerge."

"No. I looked on the Interweb, that humans with injuries like mine can, maybe, but I can't, so I can't contribute to the filial pails. That merits culling, even if I know I won't be, here, on Earth. But it's still..." A breath, two.

"It's still...?"

_I want to feel the slide of Dave's bulge against mine,_ he doesn't say.

"It still feels like I'm broken. And now I have the chance to be not broken, or less broken, anyway. I'm going to take it, even if it means that I have, what is it, internalized ableism."

"If the surgery will improve your quality of life and you are comfortable with the changes it will cause..."

"Then I should get it, I know." Another tap at his knees. He can't feel anything from them, really – the feedback system on his prosthetics isn't very good. Mostly just balance information, not heat or cold or touch. Ball bearings in the knees, tiny gyroscopes here and there inside them. "If I'd known that I'd have the option of surgery, so soon after I came here, I don't think... that I would have chosen to get my legs removed again. But I didn't know."

_And now Dave can't travel back to tell me, and even if he could it would kill him. It would make another dead Dave, split his soul again after the game put all the pieces back together, after I've sat with him in the middle of the night, on the other end of a chat window, while he had flashbacks to his alternate selves' deaths._

He doesn't say that, either. They all agreed that the game is a secret. There was a game, but not Sburb: a game that somehow, through some trick of the Internet and the Interweb beginning to interact, light and darkness of signal passing through the fading barrier between the worlds, allowed both trolls and humans to register and play. 

(Sburb is the only "game" that matters; everything after, even "real life," feels shallow and paper-thin with falseness, crackling green lightning still filling their aural sponge clots and their powers still lurking under their chitin. Rose says this is not an uncommon perception for people with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.)

The first mutual contact between Alternia and Earth wasn't government officials in suits, or spaceships arriving in-atmosphere, or explosives dropping from the skies. It was colored letters in text boxes, passing between a bunch of six-sweep-old larvae.

"Equius says he thinks he can make better prosthetics once I have full control again."

She smiles. "Will you want them?"

"Yeah, I mean, this one –" he touches the seam again. "It reacts to changes in balance, but the new ones would be able to sync with my nerves, he says, or maybe skim the signals off the bypass. It would be better."

Her fingers curl around the pages of her notepad, and she's still looking at him, listening. Tavros doesn't like to think about how he must seem to her. Not broken. She says that's not a good word to use, because he's the only person who can judge what is right or wrong for him.

The problem is that he's not sure what's right or wrong for him. Stuck between what he maybe-might want, what he's been taught to want so he'll fit in with other trolls, and what he knows he _should_ want to fit in among humans, when sometimes they're all different.

He doesn't even have a moirail to help him. Just Tinkerbull, who noses at his cheeks and curls up against his thorax when he needs comforting. He guesses that's good enough.

+++

The Pesterchum ringtone curls out from his speakers, and Dave hits the _Video Chat_ button and leans back in his chair like he hasn't been waiting for the last twenty-one minutes and eight seconds for Tavros to log on and call him.

It takes a few seconds for the picture on the other end to resolve: Tavros's face, round and dorky, massive horns so long they're out of the camera's lens field. Behind him is his recuperacoon and a _Fiduspawn: The Movie_ poster next to a picture of an ethereal fairy dipping her fingers in a magical pond, and no that's not a euphemism.

"Can you see me?" Tavros asks. His voice is higher-pitched than Dave was expecting, but in a way that curls in the back of his mind, familiar.

"Yeah." Dave pushes his sunglasses up, even though they weren't really falling off.

"Oh!" Tavros grins, fangs glimmering white against his lips.

"It's been a while since I heard you. You sound different!"

Dave shrugs. "Puberty." His dead self didn't age even though his alpha self did, so while Dave's voice dropped once in the game and once in real life, Tavros never heard it the first time. "How're you doing?"

Tavros's eyes are fixed on his computer screen, rather than on the camera. It looks like his eyes might be starting to fill in brown, but Dave can't tell from this distance.

"I'm okay." There's a long pause, too long not to be awkward. Dave embraces it and stays silent. "I'm...thinking of going to Comic Con. In the, um, fall."

Dave can easily imagine Tavros among his own kind, delighting in nerd debates. "You been reading comics a lot lately?"

"A few. There's this little independent comic that's about a group of kids who are gamers that I've been following. They mostly fight over, you know, nerdy things, but it's getting a lot of attention because there's a mixed-species stable caliginous relationship that's done really well. Along with all the nerd stuff."

"What's it called?"

"Fidusquad Emeritus."

...it's about Fiduspawn players. _It's about Fiduspawn players and Dave is now romantically obligated to read it._

Tavros snickers. "They don't play Fiduspawn anymore, though the characters used to. Now they play all sorts of things and make a bunch of jokes. I'd also be going with Nepeta, who, you know."

Dave does know. Nepeta's obsession with the Japanimes has earned her the title of SUPER KAWAII ALIEN KAKKO-WEEABOO. She has jumped on the learning of Japanese with all the enthusiasm of a tall dark-haired strong male for his younger effeminate weepy partner.

"Don't let the fangirls with yaoi paddles get you."

"I don't think, that it would make much difference."

"Shouldn't risk it."

Tavros leans forward, rests his head on one hand. "Did you get more details about that gig in two weeks?"

"Yeah. They found someone else."

"That sucks."

"It happens. Not everyone is comfortable enough in themselves to know that no matter what they think they want, what they really want is a Strider spinning their beats."

Tavros shivers, faintly, on the other end of the connection. Head shaking slightly, ears flicking.

"You cold?"

"A little." Tavros zips up his hoodie – grey, with something stitched in black on the sleeve. Probably Kanaya's doing.

"You oughta move down here. Stay warm all year long."

"You mean you'll keep me warm?" Tavros's smile catches like a hook in his thoughts, dragging out a bunch of soft squishy feelings he didn't mean to expose.

"Baby, I'm a live blanket with a plug-in function that'll keep you so warm you'll never want to wear clothes again."

One of Tavros's ears flicks, and he ducks his head, smile going embarrassed. "Won't be any good, without a ground, to keep it from overloading."

Dave leans back in his chair. "Tripping the circuit's the whole point. Watch it explode all sparkles and fire and afterwards you sit in the dark and light a candle, go down to the basement looking to switch the power on again."

Tavros grins, and Dave sneaks a hand off the desk, lets it rest ever-so-casually over his jeans-clad crotch. Not that Tavros can tell that his flesh torpedo is getting primed, but. It's easy to imagine lying on top of Tavros, pressed against the heat of his skin and listening to him gasp and moan with what Dave's making him feel...

"Maybe someday. I hope soon," Tavros says.

He could suggest that they jerk off, right now, in front of each other. He could. It wouldn't be the same as touching, when they can't even kiss, when every single state east of the Mississippi _plus_ Louisiana is cockblocking them. But it would be good.

He starts to open his mouth to say _Could be sooner than you think if you'd just open up your pants right here,_ and then remembers, with a flickerflash gut-clenching cold shock of horror, that he _researched_ this and Tavros's dick might not wake up. And here Dave was talking about fucking him, when Tavros wouldn't be able to feel it or enjoy it or – fuck. _Fuck._

"Gotta get to kissing first," he says, lamely.

"I'd like that." Tavros's smile launches all the ships in Dave's stomach, their sails billowing and flapping with nerves.

+++

AT: i, sHOULD PROBABLY GO TO SLEEP,  
AT: sINCE I HAVE TO BE UP AT, 5 AM TOMORROW, tO MAKE IT TO THE HOSPITAL ON TIME,  
TG: yeah  
TG: be safe okay  
AT: i'M LESS WORRIED THAN I WAS, wHEN I GOT THE WING ROOTS REMOVED, sINCE THIS TIME THEY KNOW, wHAT MEDICATIONS TO USE ON ME, aND A LOT MORE ABOUT TROLL PHYSIOLOGY,  
AT: sO I DON'T THINK MY SAFETY IS UP TO ME, rEALLY, bUT I'LL TRY,  
AT: }:)

\-- adiosToreador [AT] has logged off! --

TG: good  
TG: <3  
TG: wait  
TG: what the fuck did i just type

+++

He half-wakes in a sort of blurry haze, conscious but not staying there very well. His ganderbulbs don't want to stay open and it takes real effort to keep them that way, not that it's really working.

One of his doctors is standing by his bedside. "Hullo," he says. He thinks he's speaking almost clearly.

"Hello," she says. "So far we think your surgery was successful, but your muscles have atrophied, and your brain is still getting used to being connected to your nerves below your waist."

"I'll be able to have sex?" In a few days, once he's mostly off the drugs and has managed to remember this conversation, he will be horrified that he asked this.

"Well, your genitals should have sensation," she says. "And physiologically, there's never been anything wrong there."

"Mm." Satisfied, he drops off into sleep again.

+++

Dave gets an email from Tavros in July whose title reads, _i GOT HARD!!!_ Considering that the body of the message is _i WAS THINKING ABOUT SEX, aND MY BULGE EMERGED AND EVERYTHING,_ there is no jury in the world that would convict Dave for promptly shoving his pants down to his knees and jerking off.

+++

And then Bro leaves a xeno porn mag on the kitchen counter.

This wouldn't even be a thing, except that it's open, and it's a spread with a naked male troll, lying on a blanket in the outdoors with a Cavalreaper's lance set aside right above his head. He has shoulders out to forever and horns that spiral out sideways and there's another troll half-lying on top of him, narrow-hipped and lithe, and Dave can't see their dicks but suddenly he's desperately, painfully hard.

He turns the page (a female troll inspecting some firearms while naked) and staggers to his room, ignoring his dick out of sheer spite.

The next time he sees it, the page is open to a male troll with his hand between his legs and he's

fingering

himself

no

no no no no no

that's too much even for Dave

He goes to Wikipedia and discovers that all trolls, yes even the ladies, have bulges, and all trolls, yes even the dudes, have nooks, and he jerks off, coming so hard that if he didn't remember what dying felt like, he'd think it was going to kill him.

+++

Equius adjusts Tavros's prostheses a couple of times over the winter, mostly in the form of adding height – Tavros's horns mostly finished growing a couple of Earth sweeps ago, but his thoracic height and girth have been increasing rapidly, commensurate with normal post-sexual maturation growth spurts. So to keep the proportions right his legs've gotten longer, too.

With his rounded features he'll never be handsome, but he likes to think he's at least a better representative for trolls as a species than most: well-mannered, careful, physically intimidating, and friendly.

He joins a role-playing group and starts meeting the other members of his campaign every week at an independent coffee shop a couple bus stops away from the collective hive. There are a couple of newbies and a couple of people willing to teach, which is good, because it's nothing like FLARP. For one, nothing is real. It's all on paper and in their thinkpans.

Not that there aren't some issues – fantasy trolls in most RPGs are pretty different from Alternian trolls, and he's not sure how he feels about that, but that's okay. Things don't have to be simple or straightforward, and everyone is nice. Nobody calls him _skittle_ , or threatens to kill him. The first time he rolls up his pants leg to retie his shoe, one of the other members of the group, Fatima, says, "You've got metal on your leg?"

Abashed, he says, "Yeah, uh..." She grins at him in a way that makes his thorax go warm and squishy because he's so, so pale for her and wants to bury his face against her shoulder and listen to her breathe, except she has a boyfriend and is monoromantic.

"'s it clothing, or...?"

"It's, um, prosthetics."

"Seriously? I wouldn't have known. That's really cool!" She doesn't demand to see them again, which is a relief, because although he would have shown her, he didn't really want to.

School goes – fine. It's very different. The worldview, the things that are emphasized, are very different. He can read English just fine, because of whatever game shenanigans let the trolls and the humans communicate during the game. But he spends an hour agonizing over _King Lear_ and whatever _bastard_ means, before trolling Rose to explain it for him.

(Dave is online, but idle, and Tavros doesn't want to message him because then he'd _never_ get his homework done, and anyway he's not one hundred percent sure that Dave would give him an honest answer, even if it would be funny.)

An hour later he gets a pester from Dave.

TG: saw this the other day

The attachment is a photo of the cover of a book that promises to be an epic-length retelling of "The Three Billy Goats Gruff."

He has to look up the original story, and it's – unnerving. He's used to the threat of death, or at least he was up until about four human sweeps ago. There's no shame in killing to defend yourself. But it's a human folktale, and the troll is bad because it wants to eat the goats. It's not real or good or justified and Dave has to know –

AT: wHY WOULD YOU SEND ME THAT,

he writes back, and curls around Tinkerbull, careful of his wings and horns, heart-sick.

TG: cause this troll is a real one  
TG: none of the originals xenoist garbage

He rubs his cheek against Tinkerbull's flank and turns on a playlist that Dave sent him a month or so ago. It's full of terrible overwrought songs and amazing mixes, and it came with a note that read, diffidently , _dashed this off its the only playlist youll ever need and i know youll like it_ , by which he meant _This took me days to put together and I desperately want you to like it._

(And Tavros – well, Tavros, with sensation restored below his waist and a matesprit who said things like that and meant things like _that_ , touched himself and wished Dave were on the other end of a chat window to listen.)

He reads about long-dead humans and their squabbles over power, and thinks that really, for a human family, these characters remind him an awful lot of trolls. Brothers his ass; it's a beautiful kismesissitude, and the tragedy is that they didn't have an effective auspistice to keep the whole thing from going to pieces.

+++

Sollux sent him a hack for the school's wireless ages ago, so after third-period gym Dave uses the school's network to send Tavros an email:

_thanks for the book recommendation im about halfway through it  
teacher nearly blew a fuse when i said the troll and human versions were surprisingly similar  
except that theyre completely different because the troll version is a lot shorter because the main character is executed  
and while were at it reading the troll version would be less taxing for our poor school district financially as well as a nod to the increasingly intercultural interspecies interworld nature of modern politics_

He reads Tavros's response in the transition to the next class:

_sTOP SENDING ME EMAILS IN CLASS, i'M GOING TO GET DETENTION ONE OF THESE DAYS, oR THE TEACHER WILL CONFISCATE MY PHONE, aND READ ALL OUR EMAILS,_

_bUT YEAH I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LIKE IT, i DON'T KNOW WHY HE WASN'T CULLED, sINCE THAT WAS HIS SECOND BOOK, oPPOSING HEMOFEUDALISM,_

Over lunch, he writes back,

_i feel like a fat cat surrounded by clueless owners normally and then the school cafeteria serves lasagna  
what even is this  
its not cheese there is no way this has ever seen the inside of an udder  
unless that cow traveled back sixty million years got killed by a dinosaur and was left to rot on the jungle floor_

_yOU'LL, eAT IT ANYWAY,_

_aw man you got me  
yeah it was pretty terrible_

_iT SEEMS LIKE, aLL INDUSTRIALLY PRODUCED FOOD, iS PRETTY TERRIBLE, aND THAT MIGHT BE AN, iNTRAUNIVERSAL CONSTANT,_

_you in physics_

_yEAH,_

_tell the teacher that her time is passing differently than yours and its scientifically proven that your brain perceives time wrong because time makes no fucking sense_

_iS THAT, yOU TALKING, oR YOU TROLLING,_

_does it matter_

_a LITTLE,  
i'LL KNOW WHETHER OR NOT TO, tRUST YOU,_

_im 100 percent accurate and honest at all times  
i cant believe youd say that dude look this is my heart youve cut me straight through it im bleeding cherry cola red out a gash in my chest and terezi isnt even here to sniff up this flat sicksweet soda on the floor  
think of terezi bro  
everythings going dark  
goodbye world  
i hardly knew ya  
although frankly your sense of timing is shit your pulse beats differently in different places cmon get it together  
clap if you believe in chronological consistency  
clap if you believe in theoretical physics  
and you might save our chronoknight from the grimdarkness of the far future where there is only broodfestering sister_

_}:)_

Every so often that afternoon he pulls his phone out of his pocket in class, turns it on, opens up the mail client. Runs his thumb over that long-horned smiley face, sending the thread scrolling madly one way or the other, hidden by his desk.

+++

He has a gig that Thursday night – no way he's a weekend act, though he's certainly giving out enough business cards at the gigs he does get, and Bro has talked about them making a two-person go of it. Maybe. He and Bro have different styles, and even though musical strifing is cool, it probably wouldn't be any good to listen to for people who aren't blessed enough to be Striders.

He's not twenty-one and the bartender knows it, which means that the whole point of the bar is kind of lost on him after his set is over – it goes well, and he was an opener for someone else – but the other guy cuts from a number that Dave is half-familiar with from trawling YouTube, into a gross indie acoustic piece, when the lead-in was perfect for Troll Mozart's "Another Lowblood Bites the Dust," and Dave walks out of the bar with his head full of fusions of troll music when before he'd been listening to troll music for fun, not as a dj.

Since Tavros isn't any kind of judge of musical quality, he plays it for Bro, who sits there fiddling away at an Atari emulator on silent for a while. Except when Dave says, "I'm gonna turn it up louder so your old man ears can hear it," Bro says, "Was wondering when you'd get that act together."

Dave freezes.

"It's a shitty act," Bro continues, "but nobody's doing it. You gonna send that wedding mix to El Totoro like a man or just stand here making puppy faces at me?"

+++

Tavros curls his fingers over his aural flaps, listening. He can't fit good headphones on over his horns, like a lot of trolls, so he makes do with ear-buds, concentration, and covering his aural flaps.

The beat of a flamenco dance pounds its way into a troll lowblood work song, shivers into a modern troll rap piece, jumps headlong into human trance underlaid with Alternian military march-beats. Goes jagged with a recording of the _Ayem-Seht-Seht Evaluradicator_ 's Helmsman's pulse and thoughtwaves turned into frequencies, stripped right from an illegal recording that she'd made while on Earth, that ultimately led to a ban on live Helmsmen serving on vessels to be stationed in Earth territory.

Tavros doesn't realize he's bitten his lip until he tastes blood.

AT: tHIS IS, rEALLY GOOD,  
AT: tHANKS FOR SHARING IT WITH ME  
TG: of course its good i made it what else could it be  
TG: man youre just inflicting inadequacy on me left and right  
TG: first that jibe about the importance of legality and now this  
AT: yOU'RE NOT ALLOWED, tO BRING THAT UP AGAIN, bECAUSE WE TALKED ABOUT THAT FIVE MINUTES AGO, aND YOU LOST, aND A REMATCH ISN'T GOING TO HELP YOU,  
TG: what do you mean the hero always wins rematches  
AT: wHICH OF US IS THE HERO,  
AT: oR IS THIS ONE OF THOSE, wEIRD ENEMY-TURNED-FRIEND, hEROIC DRAMA THINGS,  
TG: were a homoerotic long distance buddy cop western  
TG: where my donuts dicks and tumbleweeds at  
AT: i HATE THAT TROPE, iT'S SO CONFUSING,  
AT: i KEEP EXPECTING KISMESISSITUDE, aND INSTEAD GET, rED EVERYWHERE,  
TG: humans are weird man  
AT: wHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS, iT'S SORT OF, rEDUNDANT, aND ALSO SINCE YOU'RE HUMAN, yOU'RE ALREADY, sOCIALIZED FOR IT TO MAKE SENSE,  
TG: why do you talk like this  
TG: its like being assaulted by a political correctness junkie  
TG: begging for hits of euphemisms inclusion and environmental protections  
AT: }:(  
AT: bECAUSE IT'S, iMPORTANT, tO RESPECT, oTHER PEOPLE,  
TG: ...  
TG: was that what was on the table  
TG: wriggling around in its gelatinous elephantine bigeared misery and longing for the shielding cool of under the rug states  
AT: yEAH,  
AT: aND I KNOW YOU DO, bUT YOU DON'T TALK LIKE YOU DO, eVEN THOUGH YOU, mAKE THINGS LIKE THIS PLAYLIST,  
TG: the irony and me are a package deal buy one the other required free  
AT: nO, yOU'RE JUST HIDING, iT'S JUST AN EXCUSE TO BE AN ASSHOLE,  
TG: christ what has gotten into you  
TG: look okay i love respect and cherish you and i will go to all the political protest meetings you ask of me  
AT: tHAT'S NOT WHAT I'M ASKING, sTOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH,  
TG: im not putting anything else fucking there  
AT: tHAT WAS COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY, aND ACTUALLY PRETTY AWFUL,  
TG: yeah that was the point thanks do i need to tell you how to fight dirty  
TG: you know what  
TG: im gonna go  
AT: i'M NOT SURE THAT'S, a GOOD IDEA,  
TG: believe me it is

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has logged off! --

Tavros laps the blood off his lip, fingers curling over the keyboard into loose fists, bowing his head to look at his knees.

Kasuga croons, darkly, _The stars fall against our windows, the shrapnel of my affections._

+++

Three days later his phone buzzes in class, against his hip ( _I can feel it I can feel it!_ ). At the next passing period he pulls it out and reads:

_anyone ever kiss your neck before_

_nO, wHY,_

_cause im gonna do that someday_

_oH,  
}:)_

+++

AT: wHEN'S YOUR SPRING BREAK,  
TG: third week of march  
AT: sAME HERE, }:)  
AT: wHAT ARE YOU PLANNING ON DOING THEN,  
TG: djing  
TG: sexting you  
TG: hopefully at the same time  
AT: i, HAVE AN IDEA,  
TG: no really  
AT: yOU PROMISED, tHAT IF I VISITED I COULD USE YOU AS A HEATER, sO I'M CALLING YOUR BLUFF,  
TG: wasnt bluffing  
TG: come on down  
TG: bro and his sexbuddy smuppets can stuff it where the plush dont shine


	2. (bonus epilogue)

The airport lighting is over-bright, so Tavros is wearing sunglasses, and it feels a little silly, or maybe weirdly intimate, to be wearing sunglasses when he's going to meet Dave for the first time since everything.

But he sees Dave before Dave sees him, despite the horns and the height and everything that makes him different from the flow of humanity all around them.

Dave is short, even by human standards, and wearing jeans that show off the muscles of his thighs, and his butt is – is nice. And there's the way his thighs lead up there that looks good, and would probably look better with the jeans off...

"Dave," he says, and Dave turns around. Tavros can tell when Dave sees him because Dave rocks forward a little onto his toes, then back again, and then he pushes his sunglasses up even though it doesn't do anything.

"Hey," Dave says. Without the distortion of the distance and the microphone, Dave sounds different. Different overtones, maybe, like in music.

"I, um..." His hands ache to touch Dave, to feel the warmth of him. But not now, not when everyone's around them and just last month an interspecies couple was killed in a hate crime in Los Angeles.

"You already got your stuff?"

"Yeah." Tavros gestures to his bag.

"Cool."

They wait a little while at a bus stop before the bus roars up and they, along with a bunch of other passengers, get on. Tavros shows the driver his student ID and gets a discount, while Dave's farecard is already discounted, apparently.

Dave's already taken the window seat, which is fine; Tavros sits next to him, on the cramped little bus seats, and puts his bag on his lap. Waiting for the stop where they'll transfer.

Dave's hip presses up against his, and then Dave starts keeping time with his other foot – probably at 60 beats per minute, since it divides evenly and Dave's heart beats that tempo when he's moving around but not exercising.

"What're you listening to in your head?" Tavros asks.

Dave shrugs one shoulder. "Nothing you haven't heard before." He taps out a couple more beats, then his knee hitches, stopping in midair. "Bro's at work."

"When will he get back?"

"Late, probably." Dave goes back to looking out the bus window.

"I'm looking forward to meeting him."

"No you're not."

"I so am," Tavros says, and, blocked from view by his travel bag, he slides his hand onto Dave's knee.

Dave's just as warm as he expected, through the denim.

"The first time Li'l Cal facehugs you, you'll understand," Dave says. His hand moves, achingly slowly, to rest over Tavros's, so Tavros spreads his fingers and Dave's slip between them.

Dave starts keeping time again, a little faster, still with the other leg.

"I'll deal with it then," Tavros says, very belatedly.

The bus pulls up to their stop, and Tavros lets his hand drop from Dave's knee, picking up his bag and getting off the bus.

In the bus shelter, Dave slouches, weight on one leg, and taps out time with his other foot. He's wearing a maroon hoodie with the hood down, reminiscent of his god tier, and Tavros is suddenly struck with the desire to take it off him in between kisses.

If he were human, like Dave, then he could risk a kiss, right here, couldn't he? Just one kiss, instead of burning up with wanting to touch him and not being able to because of who might see.

By the time the bus arrives, there are three other people there, and they get on, and sit down again. This time when Tavros reaches to Dave's knee, Dave's hand is already there, palm-up, waiting for him, and the brush of Dave's fingertips against the back of his palm is strangely intimate, for all its innocence.

Getting off the bus, they walk ten minutes to the apartment building, and then up the stairs. Dave unlocks the door and shows Tavros in.

There's a futon and a TV, and Dave's Bro's stuff spread out. A kitchen with smuppets everywhere and swords in the fridge, and Dave's respiteblock door is open.

"You can stay in my room with me," Dave says. "I, uh, you said you were gonna bring sopor supplements, but if you need..."

"I'll be fine." Tavros sets his bag down next to the wall in Dave's respiteblock while toeing off his shoes. He looks over at Dave, who's looking back at him through the sunglasses, and Tavros can't help but reach out to him for a hug, wrap his arms around Dave's shoulders.

Dave is shorter enough that Tavros has to bend down, and Dave stretch up, to kiss, but it's worth it, it's worth all the waiting and the longing and the self-doubt and the distance, to be able to hold onto Dave as tight as he likes and learn to kiss by kissing him.


End file.
